


A Single Blue Rose

by hookedonthesky



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Ambiguity, Anal Sex, Angst, Gen, M/M, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, So much angst, Vague Universe, mentions of - Freeform, not too explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 23:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15326943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hookedonthesky/pseuds/hookedonthesky
Summary: "Hurt me. Please. But not like this."Hamilton wants. It is not enough.





	A Single Blue Rose

The warmth of the hand on his shoulder - it was grounding and constricting at the same time. He wanted, _needed_ , more. He wanted to escape. He wanted to be consumed.

"Are you okay, son?" Washington asked, his voice gruff but not unaffected, betraying just a hint of worry.

And Alex, Alex needed more than that. _"I'm not your son,”_ he wanted to scream, not for the first time. _"Why are you making me feel this way?"_ he wanted to demand. _"Don't you feel it too?"_ he itched to ask, desperately.

" _Please,"_ he wanted to beg, _"please just leave me alone."_

_"I want you so bad,"_ he wanted to confess.

_Please take me._

"Yes," he replied instead. "Everything is fine, sir."

_Please_.

He was afraid his tone didn't hide his longing well enough. He was worried Washington would know how desperate he was. He didn't want him to know.

(he did)

***

It hadn't always been like this. In the beginning, there had been hope. Every touch on his shoulder, every command, every exchanged word and glance filled him with sparks. Maybe one day the touch would turn into a grip on the back of his neck. Maybe the commands would become firmer, _filthier_. Maybe the glances would become more heated, filled with promise of things to come.

He hoped, and dreamed. In the beginning, it hadn't felt unattainable. It had felt like a promise.

(you were always good at lying to yourself, alex)

***

His writing utensils clattering to the ground. Cursing under his breath, Hamilton lowered to his knees to try and collect them all, his mind already on the next letter that needed to be written. Lost in thought, he didn't hear the heavy footsteps approaching.

A throat clearing above him.

Hamilton looked up, startled, and froze. He felt like a small animal caught in the gaze of its predator.

He _yearned_.

There was something charged in the air between them. There was _something_ in Washington's eyes, hidden but not quite. Oh, how many times Hamilton had imagined being in this position, a hand tangled in his hair, pulling too hard, his knees hurting from the hard floor and still wanting _moremoremore._ Oh, how he _wished._

He licked his lips and made an aborted movements to do… what? He wasn't sure. But that was enough to break whatever was between them and that _something_ in Washington's eyes disappeared.

(was it even there in the first place?) 

***

Something caught his eye. There were blue roses blooming along the road. He smiled bitterly and caressed a rose with his finger, his callouses meeting soft petals. The stroking continued along the rose, his finger finally reaching a thorn. Feeling the sharp point with it, he hesitated for less then a second, then deliberately pushed.

(pain)

A few drops of blood welled up on his finger. He contemplated them shortly, then smeared them over the blue rose petal. If he squinted, the rose almost seemed... But no, it didn't. (blue was still visible underneath) (it would always be visible)

He clenched his hand into a fist and left.

***

He went to see a hooker, once. The man was younger than him, but was bigger and stronger, and that was almost enough. When he closed his eyes he could almost, almost imagine someone else behind him, pumping into him, strong hands holding him down and demanding obedience which he would give always, _always,_ whispered words commanding, praising, and it was almost enough.

But the hands were too small and not _right,_ and the voice was not gruff enough, and the murmured whispers were all _wrong_.

Eventually, he ran out, barely remembering to pay. He never went to a male hooker after that.

***

Hamilton was loud. He had a presence, he _made_ people notice him. He wouldn't be overlooked, he wouldn't _let_ people overlook him. He demanded attention wherever he went, he shouted his opinions, he didn't allow anyone to ignore him.

But in that moment, his eyes locked with Washington's, he wished of nothing more than to be invisible.

_"Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want pity."_   The words stuck in his throat, but he was afraid he'd reveal too much if he said them. (as if he hadn't already revealed _everything_ )

He cleared his throat, the small sound too loud in the big room, empty beside the two of them.

"Sir?" he tried to make his voice even. He tried to pretend as if this was nothing, as if he wasn't ( _scaredhopefulterrified_ ) rattled. He wasn't sure if he'd succeeded, he couldn't hear anything over the thumping of his heart.

"I am sorry Alex," Washington repeated, his voice gentle, yet firm. "This has to stop."

Something in Hamilton broke. It was like water overflowing, _destroying_ , a dam. Like glass shattering. He dimly realised he was shaking.

"Sir, you must feel something, I know you do! This," he gestured between them, "this _is_ _not_ nothing. I know it is not!"

His last words sounded almost like a plea. He opened his mouth to continue, ( _please let me prove it to you. let me help you feel good_ . _let me show you how good I can be_ ) but something in Washington's gaze stopped him.

"That is _enough_ , Alexander." The pure command in Washington's voice would have usually made Hamilton wish he was somewhere in private, with a hand around his cock, but this time it just made him take a stuttering step back.

"It does not matter what I feel," Washington continued, "my feelings are _not_ something we are going to discuss. There are bigger things at stake here. _Much_ bigger things. I trust you understand that." 

His voice turned gentle, then, "I did not want to talk about this, son. But I am afraid your head is not in the game. Everyone here needs you. _I_ need you."

(but not in the way you want it, alex)

He turned around and fled.

***

_Hurt me. Please. I don't mind pain._

_._

_._

_._

_But not like this._

***

There were so many things he could have said. Words were his escape, his salvation. They got him to where he was now, helped him rise out of poverty and bad circumstance and got him _here_. When he had had nothing else, he had turned to his writings. He was never alone, not really, for how could one be alone when one's mind was filled to the brim with words that swam and danced and spun?

But, sitting there, contemplating an empty parchment in front of him, for the first time, he felt alone. Words couldn't help. Flowery phrases couldn't save him, strong sentences couldn't change Washington's mind. Not here and not in this. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. Everything he thought of felt… empty.

Feeling betrayed, he went to bed. Not writing anything, for the first time in his life.

***

(just close your eyes for now. you’ll still be hurting in the morning)

***

Huge hands around his hips, leaving bruises. His breath coming in short gasps. Babbled words leaving his lips, _“Yes”_ ’s and _“More_ ”’s tripping over each other, his famous eloquence gone.

His clothes gone, hands spreading his buttocks. He was filled, finally, _finally._

Warm breath near his ear.

“Look at you, spread out for me,” the voice almost even, but with some strain. “Only for me.”

“Yes, sir. Yes!” then, ”please. I can be so good for you.”

Every thrust almost shattering, yet he still rose to meet them. He was greedy, he wanted everything, he _needed_ it. And he was getting it.

An almost growled, “good boy,” and warmth filling him, overflowing, he was so full so happy and content and it was perfect so perfect and

A cold bed greeted him. He was alone. (like always)

He curled into a ball, unable to fall asleep again.

***

He came back, the next day. Of course he did, he had a job to do. He had so much work to do.

Everything was fine. (it wasn't)

**Author's Note:**

> Soo here it is. I've finally got back into writing, and apparently I've fallen right back into my old style - too much angst and weird structure. I still hope you enjoyed it, as your daily dose of angst if nothing else lol  
> Okay also the italics are killing me, the formatting keeps getting all wonky, so sorry if there are some unnecessary spaces around. If you find any mistakes, or have anything you want to tell me or point out, please do.
> 
> Blue roses symbolize something unattainable. 
> 
> [My tumblr](http://hookedonthesky.tumblr.com/), if anyone's interested.


End file.
